Turning Point
by FABreader
Summary: Just as he reaches the pinnacle of his swimming career, Gordon has an earth-shattering revelation.


Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the Thunderbirds or International Rescue. They were created by Gerry Anderson and I thank him every day for his vision. I am merely borrowing IR and the lovely Tracy boys, but any other characters, ideas or mistakes in this story are all mine .

* * *

 _ **Turning Point**_

What if everything you always wanted, changed in an instant? When suddenly it's crystal clear that the thing you were certain you needed to complete your life, the thing you'd spent your entire life working towards, was pointless.

It happened to Gordon when he was 18.

Where had this idea come from? It had appeared from nowhere, broadsiding him and leaving him floundering in doubt and discontent. Why did it have to hit _now_?

How could this have happened, he asked himself when he finally came up for air. After all, he didn't plan for it and he sure as heck didn't see it coming. He was at a veritable crossroads in life, and was suddenly uncertain what to do.

He sat on the edge of the hard plastic chair, bare toes resting on the cool tiles, his legs jiggling up and down in an adrenaline fueled staccato. His hands smoothed his swimming cap, fiddled with his goggles for what seemed like the hundredth time. This was the Olympic final. It was the _final_ for god's sake. He needed to be focused, concentrate solely on the task at hand. This was the moment he had worked toward for the past ten, no twelve years.

Now was _not_ the time to realise he didn't want this anymore.

All those years of hard work, all the training, all the lost dates and parties. What was the point of it all he wondered as he stood and followed the other competitors onto the pool deck. The cheers from the crowd swelled to a roar as the eight swimmers lined up behind their starting blocks and began stripping off their tracksuits.

Suppose he was fortunate enough to actually win this race and the Olympic gold medal. What would he really have achieved? In years to come, no-one really remembered the winners. Not unless they did something special, like win a bag of gold medals in a single meet. A single medal didn't mean anything in the scheme of things. All it meant was that on this day, at this particular moment, he was a faster swimmer than the other seven people in the pool. Was he the best in the world? Debatable at best.

He'd always dreamt of winning an Olympic gold medal. Hadn't he? Had it been _his_ dream? Or had he just been swept along, buoyed first by his family's and then by his coach's enthusiasm as he won age meets, state titles and then national titles? He had been so busy trying to be the person everyone thought he should be that he'd never asked himself what he wanted. He honestly couldn't remember and the thought was disconcerting.

He glanced up into the stands and found his family. All of them were there to watch him race. All of them, that is, except Scott.

It was Scott's fault, the reason he felt this way. No, that wasn't fair, Gordon thought. It wasn't _entirely_ Scott's fault. He was just the catalyst.

Gordon hadn't seen his brother for months. None of the family had. Last time they'd seen Scott, he'd come home looking spit-polished and proud in his Air Force uniform. A few days were all they had together before he'd been shipped out on an assignment. Now he was in some war ravaged country fighting to stop some dictator invading a peace-loving nation. Scott was out there, risking his life for the innocent people who were caught in the cross fire.

Virgil had designed some new machine that had revolutionised farming, a throw back to his grandfather's life Gordon guessed. The farmers using the new machine were just happy because it was faster, more efficient and cheaper to run than the previous models. Virgil's bank balance was growing by the day, so much so that he'd just bought himself a new piano. A grand piano. A white one. He was also fielding offers to study at music conservatoriums overseas. Places like Paris and St Petersburg. Gordon hated to admit it, but he wasn't exactly sure what was so special about those places. Names like Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky and Debussy, musicians that Virgil talked about with something akin to awe, meant little to him.

Then there was John. Over-achiever didn't come close to describing John. He had already written some dry astronomy text book and had the thing published. Not only published and contracted for a follow-up, but the book was on the required reading list of several universities' astronomy courses. Not to mention John's computer programs that were being snapped up left, right and centre. And to top it all off, just last week he'd been chosen for the fast-track program at NASA.

Even Alan was leaving Gordon behind. Alan had plans of joining NASA and becoming an astronaut after he got car racing out of his blood. That didn't look to be any time soon though, the way he kept winning on the junior circuit. The sponsors were permanently camped on his doorstep waiting to sign him for something. Last month it had been toothpaste and Alan had driven everyone at home mad with the constant showing-off of his pearly whites.

Tracy's were, by nature, competitive. When there are five Tracy brothers all close in age, then that competitiveness increased. Was this where his discontent stemmed? Did he feel useless? No, not useless, exactly. More...inferior.

Because what did Gordon do? He swam.

Gordon stripped off his tracksuit and shoved it in his lane box. His brothers were out there, making a difference to people's lives while Gordon had spent most of his life churning up and down a pool, following an endless black line to nowhere.

Although that black line had ultimately led him here. An Olympic final. Win or lose, making it to an Olympic final was a big deal and not many people could lay claim to that feat. But compared to his Father's and his brothers' achievements, Gordon felt like he'd been playing in a paddling pool.

As he stepped forward and raised his arm, acknowledging the crowd's cheering response to his introduction, he questioned himself.

What did he want? More importantly, what did he need?

He glanced up at the crowd, briefly caught his Dad's eye. The Navy? He could learn to scuba dive since he was happier in the water than on it. But then the mental image of an article he'd read a couple of weeks ago flashed through his memory. Some water patrol service that had submarines, aquanauts and high-speed hydrofoils. WASP. That's what it was, the World Aquanaut Security Patrol.

His swimming career was over; he knew he couldn't keep doing this and retain his self credibility. At best he only had a few more years of competitive swimming left. Then what? Teaching kids to swim? Important, to be sure, but was it fulfilling? No, it was the Navy or the WASP, whichever one would take him.

The burgeoning idea took hold and exploded into an awareness that shook him. That was what he was meant to do with his life. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Knew it with an inner certainty that cleared his mind and settled his disquiet.

As he stepped onto the starting block he realised, with a liberating clarity, that he could not, _would_ not do this anymore.

He looked down the length of the pool, at the black line stretching along the bottom and the surface of the water that glinted with the reflection of the overhead lights.

But there was one final piece of business. One last race before he could get on with the rest of his life. This final and this medal. Now Gordon wanted the medal. He thought he'd wanted it before, but now it was with a yearning that he could taste. He wanted it with an earnestness that replaced his inner turmoil with a fierce determination. The medal was there for the taking. He may not be the favourite to win this race, but that meant nothing to him. He was grabbing that medal with both hands.

He sneaked a look at the current world champion to his left. Gordon had seen him furtively favouring one shoulder and knew what the signs meant. His brothers did it all the time. He was carrying an injury.

The swimmer on his right was the current Olympic champion, but Gordon felt he could take him.

Maybe, he thought, just maybe, the gold was his for the taking.

He bent over into his start position, grabbed the edge of the block for leverage and felt a steely resolve wash over him. This was his moment.

The starting gun went off and he dove into the pool for one hell of a final hurrah.


End file.
